Break Me

1

The soft light of dawn filtered through the small, frosted windows of our house. Outside, the world was a winter wonderland, draped in a thick blanket of snow that sparkled like diamonds under the early sun. Each flake that danced down from the sky whispered secrets of the season, and at three years old, I felt like I was living in a paradise. The snow-capped peaks of the mountains stood like silent guardians, their presence both comforting and majestic.
My laughter filled our cozy home, a melodic sound that mingled with the warmth of the crackling fire. Our house was small, but, it was alive with the essence of family-photographs lined the walls, capturing moments of joy and laughter. In one, I was cradled in my father's strong arms, my little brown curls framing a cherubic face, eyes bright with innocence. My mother stood beside us, her radiant smile illuminating her features as she brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead.
"Ellie, darling, come here!" my mother called from the kitchen, her voice sweet and soothing like a favorite lullaby. The scent of cinnamon wafted through the air, mingling with the fresh aroma of pine that seeped in through the slightly ajar window.
I scampered across the worn wooden floor, my tiny feet barely making a sound as I approached the kitchen. "Mommy, what are we making?" I asked, peering over the counter where she was rolling out dough.
"We're making gingerbread cookies for the church Christmas party!" she replied, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "And you can help decorate them with sprinkles!"
"Yay!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands with delight. I loved the holidays- the decorations, the songs, and most of all, the time spent with my family. The thought of cookie decorating filled me with an exhilarating joy that only a child could know.
Just then, my father entered the room, shaking off the cold like a great bear awakening from hibernation. "What's this I hear about cookies?" he asked, his voice deep and warm. He stooped to my level, ruffling my hair affectionately.
"Daddy! We're making cookies!" I cheered, my little body bouncing on my feet.
"Is that so? Well, I guess I'd better help, then!" He smiled broadly, revealing the crinkles around his eyes that I adored. My father had a way of making everything seem grand, every moment an adventure waiting to unfold.
We gathered around the table, flour flew, laughter erupted, and the kitchen became a canvas of childhood memories, each sprinkle and swirl of frosting a testament to the love that bound us together. I lost myself in the warmth of the moment, my father's strong hands guiding mine as we rolled the dough into whimsical shapes-stars, angels, and little men.
The gentle melodies of Christmas carols floated through the air, wrapping us in a cocoon of warmth and happiness. My mother hummed softly along with the tunes, her voice harmonizing with the spirit of the season. The sounds of our laughter mingled with the crackling of the fire, creating a symphony of joy that enveloped our house.
"Don't forget the sprinkles, Ellie!" my father reminded me, his eyes sparkling as he playfully tossed a handful of colorful sprinkles into the air. I squealed with delight, the colors bursting against the backdrop of white flour like a celebration of life itself.
The snow continued to fall outside, a gentle blanket that transformed the landscape into a magical world. My excitement was palpable as we decorated the cookies with a plethora of bright toppings-tiny candies, shimmering sugar, and bright icing.
"Look, Mommy! Look, Daddy! This one's the best!" I exclaimed, holding up a lopsided gingerbread man covered in a rainbow of sprinkles.
"Now that's a masterpiece!" my father proclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. "I think that one deserves a special place on the top of the cookie plate."
As the sun began to set, the golden glow faded, and a soft twilight settled over the house. We gathered around the table, our hearts full as we admired the colorful array of cookies we had created together. With a final flourish, I added a sprinkle of glitter to my favorite cookie, watching as it sparkled like stars against the soft glow of the kitchen light.
After dinner, my mother wrapped me in a warm embrace, lifting me onto her lap. "What do you want to do next, my little chef?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead.
"Can we read a story? The one with the bear!" I replied, my eyes bright with anticipation.
"Of course! The bear who loved gingerbread cookies?" my mother teased, winking at me.
"Yes! That one!" I giggled, squirming with excitement.
As she reached for the book on the shelf, my father joined us, settling down on the couch beside us. He took my tiny hand in his, intertwining our fingers. "I'll read to you," he said, his voice a soothing balm that made me feel safe.
The cozy living room transformed into a sanctuary of stories and dreams, where I could lose myself in the adventures of a little bear. My father's voice echoed softly through the room as he read, bringing the characters to life with his rich tone. My eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of the fire lulling me into a state of blissful comfort.
As the hours went by, everything felt different. The happy vibes from earlier started to fade, and a strange feeling filled the room, like a shadow creeping in. I looked at the clock and saw my mommy's forehead crinkle with worry. "Jack, do you think we should prepare for the storm?" she asked, her voice soft but a little shaky.
Daddy nodded and looked out the window at the swirling snow. "Yeah, it's really picking up," he said seriously. "I'll run to the store to get some supplies. We need to be ready."
I shifted in his lap, gazing up at him with big, wide eyes. "Daddy, will you come back quickly? I want to read more stories!" I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper.
"Of course, sweetheart. I'll be right back. Just a quick trip," he promised, giving me a kiss on my forehead. "You stay here with your mommy, okay?"
When Daddy stood up, it felt like the warmth of the room dimmed a little. "Stay safe, Jack," Mommy said, worry painted on her face.
"I will," he replied, smiling at me before stepping into the swirling snow outside. The door clicked shut, and I felt a little empty inside, like a piece of my happy feeling was gone.
Time dragged and I snuggled tightly against Mommy, sinking into her warm hug. We waited for Daddy to come back, but as the minutes turned into an hour, my tummy felt funny with worry.
"Mommy, is Daddy okay?" I asked, my voice shaking a bit.
She looked at the clock again and bit her lip. "He's just taking a little longer than expected, sweetheart," she said, but I could hear the worry in her voice.
I snuggled closer, trying to chase away the icky feeling in my heart. "Maybe he found some really big cookies?" I suggested, hoping to make us both smile.
Mommy chuckled softly, and it made me feel a little better for a moment, but I could still see the concern on her face. "Yes, maybe he did. Daddy always finds the biggest cookies," she replied, but her eyes still looked worried.
After another half hour ticked by, the howling wind outside began to pick up, rattling the windows with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. I clutched my bear tightly, seeking comfort from its familiar softness. "I want Daddy!" I cried, my voice rising in desperation.
My mother pulled me close, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. "I know, darling. We all want him back. He'll be here soon. Let's keep reading while we wait, okay?"
My attention was focused on the door. "I want daddy to read to me!" I repeated, my frustration bubbling over.
With every passing minute, the unease grew more palpable, a thick fog settling in the pit of my stomach. "Mommy, I don't like this!" I whined, tears pricking at my eyes.
"Shh, shh, it's alright, Ellie," she soothed, trying to mask her own rising panic. "Let's just be patient. Daddy is strong; he can handle this storm."
Just as the light outside started to fade, the door creaked open, and my heart leaped with hope. But the person who came in wasn't Daddy. It was our neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, and his face looked all pale and worried. He spoke quietly to my mommy, his voice soft but serious. I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but I could see the worry in their eyes, and my heart sank.
My mother's face was pale, her lips pressed together tightly as she fought back tears. "Ellie, listen to me," she said, her voice trembling. "Daddy loves you so much. He would want you to be brave, okay?"
I felt my world shift beneath me, the warmth of the moment collapsing like a house of cards. "But he said he'd be back," I whimpered, clutching my bear tightly.
"I know, sweetheart," Mr. Jenkins said softly, his eyes glistening with tears. "But sometimes, things happen that we can't understand."
"I want my Daddy!" I cried, the tears spilling over as the reality settled in.
My mother swept me into her arms, cradling me against her chest. "I know, darling. I want him too. But we have to be strong right now," she whispered, her voice breaking.
As the snow continued to fall outside, the warmth of our home felt like a distant memory, swallowed by the darkness creeping in around us. I clung to my mother, my small body shaking with sobs. The laughter, the joy, the cookies-they all felt like a dream, slipping away like sand through my fingers.
The night stretched on, and I couldn't shake the feeling that the world outside had changed forever. The shadows seemed to loom larger, and the once comforting glow of the fire now felt like a flickering candle struggling against the dark. I didn't understand what had happened, but I could feel the weight of loss settling in, heavy and suffocating.
My mother held me close, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against my cheek. I tried to find comfort in her warmth, but the ache in my heart was too great. The promise of stories and laughter faded, leaving only the hollow echo of my father's absence.
Hours passed, and the storm raged outside, mirroring the turmoil within me. My mother whispered soothing words, but I couldn't hear them over the roar of my own fear. I wanted to believe that my father would come back, that the magic of our day would return, but deep down, I knew something had changed forever.
As I drifted into a restless sleep, the shadows of innocence began to fade, replaced by the harsh reality of loss. The world outside had become a treacherous place, and I was left with a heart that ached for a father who would never return.